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Personal Identity in a War Zone

By Henry Brewster May 12, 2010 2:21 pmMay 12, 2010 2:21 pm

A call to active duty soldiers and officers: Capt. Timothy Hsia is leaving active duty after nearly a year of being the main writer of our “A Soldier Writes” feature. We thank him for all his insightful posts and wish him the very best. At War would like to experiment with the feature, asking any active duty service member, especially those posted in Afghanistan and Iraq, to send in postings for publication. Below we are printing a piece from Capt. Henry Brewster, who sent in a post about religion and identity in Iraq.

We welcome posts that raise a topic about military life, from tactics to equipment to hardship on those left at home. The idea is more to spur discussion among readers, both in the military and out. We avoid overtly political issues, but topics like “Is counterinsurgency warfare working in Afghanistan?” would be completely appropriate.

The form has been for the writer to sketch out the pros and cons of a certain topic, in a somewhat neutral way, with some personal experience from the field if relevant. Then we open it up for comments, hoping for a vigorous discussion. Submissions should not be longer than 500 words.

Please e-mail us at AtWar@nytimes.com. We look forward to hearing from you.
— The editors of At War

From Captain Brewster:

During the last nine months of my year in Iraq, I served as a scout platoon leader commanding 30 cavalry scouts and nine snipers. Our daily missions involved protecting the populace and helping to secure those working to build the struggling economy and government. The missions were tiresome, but they created opportunities for interactions with the Iraqi people, both military and civilian.

Behind closed doors and away from our soldiers, my fellow officers and I often criticized the Iraqis. Initially, it was a way to blow off steam, but I came to realize that my religious identity fueled my complaints.

Of more than 900 men in my battalion, I was one of only two Jewish soldiers. While serving in this predominately Muslim country, Lieutenant Schwartz had opted to translate his last name from the German and go instead by Lieutenant Black. My last name, Brewster, did not pose the same problem, but I had my own difficult choice to make.

My father is a fourth-generation Episcopal minister from a blue-blooded New England family who fell in love with a Jewish girl. Rather than prescribing a religion to any of their children, my parents raised my brother, sister and me in both religions and allowed us to decide for ourselves. While not rejecting my Christian heritage, I have considered myself Jewish since shortly after my bar mitzvah.

For safety’s sake, I ordered two sets of dog tags before my deployment, one that identified me as Jewish, the other as Episcopalian. In my first three months in Iraq, while I worked in intelligence — mostly relegated to a windowless office — I wore the dog tags that said Jewish. My switch to platoon leader meant leaving the base daily and facing increased danger. The night before my new duties, I sat for close to an hour staring at each set of dog tags. I thought of the Maccabees — choosing death at the hand of the Assyrians rather than renouncing their faith. I also recalled Daniel Pearl — the Wall Street Journal reporter who had been beheaded in Pakistan, in part for being Jewish. I knew the chance of my capture was relatively low and that my dog tags would probably remain hidden under my uniform. But the idea of hiding my religious identity weighed on me heavily.

This past winter as the Israelis were starting a brutal incursion into the Gaza Strip, I faced blatant anti-Semitism for the first time in my life. My platoon was among the forces sent to ensure the anti-Israeli protests did not become violent. On my request, one of the platoon’s interpreters translated the words of the protesters: “Push the Jews into the sea,” some cried. “It is time to rid Palestine of the dirty swine,” others chanted.

The protests were not supporting justice or addressing Israeli use of force, but were rather an attack on Judaism in general. I was angry, and I had to work to control my emotions in front of the men.

After returning home, I was describing an aspect of Iraqi culture to my girlfriend and heard myself describe Iraqis as lazy, corrupt, bigoted and backward. As she stared at me shocked, I realized that I too was being a bigot who had come to hate Arabs and their culture. I hated them for seeming to undermine our every advance with their corruption, and I hated them for keeping my soldiers and me there while they failed to resolve their governmental infighting. But I knew my broad generalizations based on experiences with a few Iraqis were unacceptable. I was no better than the Iraqi in the street who had lost sight of the nuance of argument and derided an entire people on the basis of their religion and culture.

Weeks later, after considerable thought, I came to see that some of the Iraqis’ behavior that I criticized was in response to their surroundings. They knew that American units talked a good game but would soon be replaced with new units. Promises made would be forgotten as new American commanders surveyed the political landscape and came to their own conclusions about the best path forward. For Iraqis to line their own pockets may have been corrupt in my eyes, but they lived forever questioning when American dollars would flow their way or toward a rival tribe.

Where, too, was my sense of history? Here was a fellow monotheistic culture — born too of the seed of Abraham who had suffered millennia of atrocities for their beliefs, just as Jews had.

In the months since returning home, I have lost some bravado and gained more perspective. It is still a work in progress, however. I am not sure I will ever completely put my hostile feelings behind me or forget the hatred I saw in the eyes of the Iraqi protesters. But from this experience, I also carry something more positive. That day, witnessing the protesters’ hatred toward Jews, I felt the courage of my beliefs and the confirmation of my decision to wear the dog tags that identified me as Jewish.

Henry Brewster is a captain in the United States Army stationed at Fort Riley, Kan. The Youngstown, Ohio, native recently returned from a one-year tour in Iraq.

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